The Rebirth Project
by queenpearl
Summary: In 2012, a secret project is underway. One that ensures that history will come alive...
1. Memories

_It was a very dark night as the large ship made her way across the sea. The water was as smooth as glass, not a breeze of wind was there to disturb it. It was a condition known as the doldrums, every sailing ship's worst nightmare. The lack of wind could last for weeks, sometimes months. Starving the crew with most eventually dying of thirst for lack of fresh provisions. The ships too suffered. Those who made it out alive, wished they hadn't. Most went mad before they eventually perished. This was not an issue for this large vessel though for she was powered by steam, independent of the wind. She was the largest of her kind, a symbol of man's continued economic and technological prowess. From the day she was born she had but one purpose, to best nature at her own game!_

 _She sensed she was not alone. Out of the darkness a creature loomed and she scoffed at its insignificance. Did Nature really think she could be beaten with that. She gathered herself to meet it, unafraid even as it loomed menacingly above her. Then the blow came, followed seconds later by an incessant ringing noise..._

Warrior's crimson eyes snapped open, falling immediately on her still ringing alarm clock. Giving it the most baleful glare she could manage before reaching around to slap it silent. Sighing, she rubbed her eyes to clear the sleep from them. It was not the first time she had that dream. It had been recurring almost every night since her Awakening. It meant something, she knew that but she didn't know what. She remembered very little of her old life. What she did recall was limited to a place of industry, surrounded by fields of green with a peaceful air about it. So incredibly different than what she felt now. And a sister, a twin sister. Warrior's memories were so blurred she could hardly make out her face. She didn't even recall her sister's name, never mind her own. That was to be expected, the brass had said. But the other ships, also risen from the depths for a second chance, had no trouble remembering their lives. Warrior sighed, rubbing her face one last time before deciding it was time to leave her berth to find some breakfast. Her stomach was already complaining about lack of food and it just wouldn't do to subject her fellow ships to its unrelenting growls.

Making her way past the waterfront, Warrior took a moment to admire the skyscrapers lining the city. Woods Hole Massachusetts was not the largest city on the American east coast but it had grown in the last couple of decades, spurred by a rise in the local fishing industry as well as new research opportunities. Warrior's Commanding Officer, Captain Tamaroa was also at the breakfast station and though still a bit groggy, Warrior had enough wits about her to offer a salute.

"Morning Warrior." Tamaroa greeted.

"Good morning ma'am." Warrior replied, barely stifling a yawn.

Tamaroa chuckled. "I see someone's still a bit sleepy." She said.

Warrior nodded. "Aye."

"Was it that dream again?"

Warrior winced. She had told Tamaroa about the dream after the first few nights. While the older cutter didn't understand its meaning either she had told Warrior to inform her on any new developments.

"Yes." She sighed. "Nothing new. Just the same thing, a dark night and then out of nowhere, wham. I'm dead."

Tamaroa smiled reassuringly. "You'll figure it out. A few of the others, they had memory problems when they first came back. But they sorted through it and so will you."

Warrior nodded. "Thanks ma'am."

Tamaroa shook her head. "Warrior, we're not on duty yet. Relax, and call me Tamaroa."

"Yes ma'am-I mean yes Tamaroa." Warrior straightened instantly, her bearings coming into play.

Tamaroa sighed. Warrior's past remained shrouded in mystery. Tamaroa knew the brass had something from when she was raised but they were choosing not to share it. Warrior was not born a military ship, that much was clear. Her size and her lines indicated a part warship heritage however which was likely why she caught onto her training so easily. Even so, she didn't have to be so stiff all the time. It was a mark of a newbie that they maintain their military bearings. They all learned to relax over time, Warrior would too so Tamaroa hoped.

Tamaroa left to oversee the next watch while Seneca, one of the Famous-class cutters and Warrior's best friend, arrived for breakfast. The two ships helped themselves to the breakfast table and were just finishing their second helping of gravy and biscuits when the base's smallest and most annoying, in Warrior's opinion, residents arrived. Willow and Oak, two of the Juniper-class buoy tenders, were based out of Newport but always enjoyed a quick jaunt across the bay to Woods Hole. The two descended upon the breakfast table like a pair of hungry wolves, filling their plates as quickly as they stuffed their faces.

"Would it trouble you two to show just the slightest hint of manners." Warrior asked, looking a bit disgusted by their behavior.

"What's it to ya, granny?" Oak said through a mouthful of food while Willow snickered. Some bits sprayed out of her mouth and Warrior shrank back so they wouldn't strike her pristine white hull.

"USCGC Oak, apologize this instant! That is a superior officer you are addressing!" Senaca growled.

"Sorry Ensign." Oak muttered. Willow echoed her. The two moved off.

"The way those two act, it is completely improper!" Warrior huffed after they had left. She by contrast, had been eating her breakfast with all the dignity and poise of a lady.

"All this talk about proper and you wonder why they call you granny?" Senaca asked.

Warrior squawked indignity but politely. "But it is improper. For them to behave so rudely is unbecoming of a Coast Guard ship."

"You know sometimes I think you're from the wrong era." Senaca said.

"What makes you say that?" Warrior asked.

"Besides the whole 'proper lady' act you have an accent that slips through when you get mad."

Warrior frowned. She was aware she didn't sound like the average Yank. Tamaroa had told her that she actually sounded more like a Brit. Not that she minded. Warrior thought it prim and proper, like how a pair of certain buoy tenders should be acting!

"It's cute." Senaca smirked.

Warrior found her own lips twitching but maintained her annoyed stance. "It is not! You take that back!" Her accent was thicker than ever and Senaca started laughing.

"Stop laughing, it's not funny! Senaca!" Warrior could only pout as, infuriatingly, Senaca laughed more.


	2. Stuffy Old Granny

Warrior was content with life as she made her course back to Woods Hole. She'd just completed a month long patrol of the east coast, stretching from Bar Harbor Maine all the way down to the Chesapeake. At this time of year, little weather was to be expected and so her duties were light. She liked it that way. It allowed her more time to practice with her guns. Rescues were harrowing and while it got her adrenaline going like nothing else there was a certain thrill to feeling her weapons fire rounds off her deck and then seeing that plume of water splash into the sea.

As a medium range endurance cutter, her patrol area extended out farther than Senaca's. She expected her best friend to already be in port, stuffing her face with clams. The thought of those delicious muscled creatures made Warrior's mouth water. She'd always had a thing for clams!

Pushing the thought aside for now, Warrior focused instead on her surroundings. The Labrador had pushed far out into the Atlantic this spring and icebergs were a near constant threat. Warrior's powerful surface search radar kept tabs on them all. As part of the International Ice Patrol it was her job to ensure none of these large ice cubes made contact with a ship. Though her thick hull was designed to take a hit, a commercial vessel might not be so lucky... Warrior winced as she felt the scar on her starboard side complain. It was always complaining, in cold waters more than anywhere else. That might be because the cold caused the blood vessels in her hull to expand which stretched the scarred plating. She couldn't see it, it was below the waterline but she knew that it was what had sent her to the bottom. She put her focus into the channel ahead. Her course had her sailing between a pair of ice flows. Not the best course but the flows were miles long and it would take her far too long to alter course and find another way around. Within the flows it was like a maze of channels and Warrior simply did not have the time nor the energy to traverse them. Besides, she could just ram right through the packed ice anyways. And it was good training for her other role as an icebreaker. Going through the narrow channel between the two flows, she simply nudged the smaller blocks out of her way. She was clear in no time and immediately increased speed, feeling the rush of 40 knots!

Reaching Woods Hole just before dinner, she noticed the dinner tables were nearly finished being set. Knorr was anchored in the harbor nearby. Warrior did not like the research ship. She found her to be loudmouthed, corruptive and extremely improper! And she was currently with Oak and Willow. Though certain it was against her better judgement, the cutter decided to alter course to better hear their conversation.  
 _  
_"...And then, out of the darkness like a ghost ship, there she was. Her prow like a knife, cutting through the sandy bottom. Covered in rust from stem to stern, but lovely lines even after all those decades beneath the waves. I made sure to take plenty of pictures."

Knorr pulled out a packet, revealing a collection of photographs. And, to Warrior's inner horror, they were almost all exclusively of the ship's rudder and propellers. No, she would not stand for this! Such things were meant to remain private, not shared and gossiped about like some exciting new fashion trend. Especially not when the ship in question was dead. _"Or was she?"_ Warrior pushed aside the inner voice and set about her mission of preserving the young one's minds. Knorr's was clearly beyond help but at least Warrior could help prevent her corruption from spreading any farther.

"That's quite enough lass!" She growled, shoving her way in. Rather rude, but with Knorr, it seemed that was the only way to get through to her.

The research ship seemed surprised. "Why, Warrior." She smiled. "I was just regaling these young ones of my greatest discovery."

"Your greatest discovery is improper and cruel." Warrior shot back. "To take such pictures is impolite and immoral, especially since the ship in them has no say. Have you not any respect for the dead? Give me those." Ignoring Knorr's protests, she snatched the offending collection out of her grasp and sailed off in a huff.

"Stuffy old granny." sniffed Oak after her.

Warrior ignored the younger cutter and sailed over to the table. She was famished and loaded up her plate with as much as she could carry. Of course, she would be obliged to eat politely it not slightly bit faster than normal.

"Well someone's hungry." Tamaroa remarked.

Warrior paused in her eating, having been in the mode of vacuum cleaner for the last several minutes. She made sure to swallow first before speaking. "I rather was." She replied, a bit defensively.

Tamaroa tsked. "As I said before, you need to relax. There's no need to get defensive, I understand."

Warrior sighed. "Yes, yes I'm sorry." She normally wouldn't be so short but the long patrol had tired her and Knorr's earlier actions had worn down her nerves.

Which reminded her. She took out the album of pictures she took from the research vessel, handing them to Tamaroa. "Knorr was trying to show these off to Oak and Willow. I took them because I felt they were, rather pornographic and not something a young ship should see."

"Well in that case you keep them then, Warrior. For I am a young ship, compared to you." Tamaroa replied, gently pushing them back.

"Wh-what?" Warrior felt a bit slighted by the attack on her age. She was a _young_ ship dammit! Why did everyone say she was old?!

Tamaroa laughed. "Your manners are far too high toned even for a modern Brit and they can be pretty stuffy, believe me! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a ship of the Gilded Age."

Warrior kept her cool but did allow herself a glare at her commander. She had started to read up on her history since her return and while what she could recall did somewhat concur with Tamaroa's statement, that she was an early 1900s vessel, that did not give the smaller cutter a right to tease her about it! "Tamaroa, 'tis one thing to suggest I am old. 'Tis quite another to say I am over a century in age!" She frowned.

"My apologies but you are a Salvage-class. And a highly classified one at that. For all I know, it could be."

Warrior sighed. "Great, so I am a stuffy old grandma."

"Well then stuffy old grandma, I suggest you look over this collection. It might offend your sensitive tastes but they are images of Knorr's most impressive find and of the most famous ship of that era. And it wouldn't hurt for you to adapt a bit more to modern sensibilities." Tamaroa suggested.

"You're suggesting I look at porn?!" Warrior asked.

"Not such a bad idea really. It's one of the delicacies of the modern era, it'll help you adjust. Might help you in other ways too." Tamaroa's smirk ensured Warrior wouldn't miss her meaning and indeed the other ship didn't.

With a grimace of disgust, Warrior put wires over her ears, still holding the photo collection and sailed off singing "Tralala! I'm not listening to you!"


	3. Electrical Tone

_"Someone help me! Please, help me!" The lone ship stood mortally wounded in the pitch black night, calling out to anyone who could hear her._

 _"Sister? Is that you? What's happened?"_

 _"I've struck a berg! Come quickly!"_

 _"Are you hurt?"_

 _"I-I won't last much longer. Please, my passengers... they need you..."_

 _"... I'm coming as fast as I can. You just hang on sister. Please, hang on..."_

 _"My sister, Olympic. My sister..."_

Once again Warrior found herself forced awake right at the most important part of the dream. This time, instead of that ringing from hell came gentle music. She found she had a fondness for classical and had hoped it would bring her around slowly instead of interrupting her dream. No such luck. Groaning, she slapped the alarm off more out of anger than anything. She was close! She was so close! She could've understood it all if she'd had just 5 more minutes but already the remnants of the dream were fading away. Warrior clung fiercely to them, trying to recall anything helpful. She knew she had spoken her sister's name but now she could no longer recall what it was.

"Fuck!" She growled. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck it!" She tried hard to remain prim and proper but American profanity did have a certain appeal to it sometimes. When she was alone... with no one to hear her...

Deciding that this called for better brains than hers, she opened up her laptop. It was a gift from Senaca for her commissioning and Warrior had sensed learned the basics of using it. She had discovered the miracle that was YouTube and the power of Google was great and terrible! The laptop took a minute to boot up and while it was, she poured herself a cup of fine English tea. She despised coffee. It made her jittery and flighty, something a Coast Guard ship shouldn't be but the tea had just the right amount of caffeine in it to be effective whilst not causing reactions that fried her frail nerves.

Taking a sip and delighting in the strong flavor, she turned her attention to the tech of the 21st century. She opened a new tab and typed in the first thing she could think of. _"Electrical Tone- Morse Code."_ It was what she was using in her dream. The spark of her disk sending out a signal for all ships to hear. The first few results were not encouraging and the second page yielded few results if any. By the fourth page she was seriously considering abandoning her search and waiting until tonight for the dream to come around again. But one result caught her eye. It was simply titled _RMS Titanic._ Beneath it was a link to jump to the subsection called _Radio Communications._ Curious, Warrior did so. And what she found, shocked her.

Scrolling back to the top of the article (my there were a lot of words there!) she clicked to enlarge the picture presented. It showed a medium-sized vessel with a riveted black hull and white superstructure. The photograph was black and white so she couldn't determine much more beyond that though she could see the presence of a racing stripe along the length of the hull. She looked sleek and fast and strong all in one. She was beautifully balanced with four smokestacks standing tall down the center of her back with an aerial, presumably for the wireless, connected above by a pair of raked masts. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, and a confident if just a bit cocky smile was seen across her bow which had a bit of a flare to it. Her hull ended in a lovely 18th century stern. The whole look just screamed "I'm an ocean liner, here I come, get out of my way!" to the North Atlantic that she no doubt plied.

As Warrior read on she was aware her tea was getting cold but it was probably a good thing that she didn't take another sip off it for she most certainly wouldn't done a spit take in shock! Just there, beneath the picture under the _General Characteristics_ section in letters plain to see were the words "Olympic-class ocean liner". Olympic. The name rang familiar to Warrior. She did recall that her own sister's name started with O. Deciding to have a closer look she typed in the name in the search bar. She pulled up Olympic's page which presented her as an almost identical twin to her ill-fated sister. She shared the same smile but it was slightly different, a bit more nervous and maybe slightly unsure. Reading the caption confirmed Warrior's suspicions. She was the lead ship of her class on her sea trials. Warrior would be nervous too if that was her! But she knew it wasn't. Just a quick scroll down told her that Olympic had been scrapped in 1936. She was not wrecked so Olympic could not be who she was. Even so, the familiarity of her struck Warrior. She must've known this ship at some point in her life! She kept reading. And when she got to the section that dealt with her younger twin Titanic, the deja vu now made perfect sense to Warrior!

"By the Ancients." She breathed as she clicked back to Titanic's page, once again struck by just how big it was. Each subsection had a link to its own article which was just as long. She thought she saw at one point that the name was the third most recognized word in the world. Warrior scrolled past the sinking section for she knew that bit all too well. Her memories, Titanic's memories, were beginning to take shape. Her dreams were outlining her past and the blanks were being filled in.

She knew who she was now but she had one last question that no amount of google searching could resolve for her. _"Why did they choose me to raise?"_


	4. Scars

Chapter 4~ Scars

Warrior sighed as she took a mid-afternoon doze in the sun. She'd just had luncheon and there were no pressing duties to be had at the moment. Thankfully because her scar was aching again. Some days it was worse than others but today it was particularly bad. Like a woman on her period, the pain made her cranky and she had no desire to sail anywhere or do anything!

Nonetheless Tamaroa sailed over. She'd just finished with her own patrol around the bay and decided to check up on her oldest (youngest) fleet member. "Warrior, you awake?" She asked.

"Go away." Warrior grumbled without opening an eye.

Tamaroa chuckled. "Not in a good mood I see." She said, hiding her concern. She knew Warrior would only be so sharp if she wasn't feeling well.

"What do you want Tamaroa?" Warrior asked, finally looking at her. Her crimson eyes were clouded with pain and Tamaroa noticed how she grimaced as she shifted her weight more to her starboard side, which she was favoring.

"Let me see it." She said.

"What?" Warrior asked, confused.

"Let me see the wound that is making you list so."

Warrior bit her lip. She hadn't shown her scar to Tamaroa or anyone really. It was below the waterline and such a thing was improper.

"I wasn't asking, Warrior." Tamaroa's tone had sharpened, indicating exactly what her words implied. She was ordering the other ship to do as she was told. Warrior had no choice.

Sighing, she slowly shifted her weight over to port. The heel exposed the area the scar ran across. Tamaroa couldn't quite stifle her gasp. "How did you get this?" She whispered. The scar, which was really more like a freshly scabbed wound, was a series of deep cuts running length wise down Warrior's side starting at the shoulder and extending back some 300 feet. A third of her length!

"Warrior, how did you get this?" Tamaroa asked in a hardened voice.

Warrior sighed. "Glancing blow. I think I hit an ice ram but I'm not sure. Thought I missed it." She hissed as Tamaroa touched it. "That hurts!"

"Sorry." Tamaroa paused. "How long has this been bothering you?"

"I dunno. Since I was brought back I think."

Tamaroa nodded. "Now I really want to get your file." She said.

"Why?"

Tamaroa's eyes had narrowed to fine slits of ice blue and Warrior pitted the source of her anger. "Because I want to know why the fucking hell they decided to raise the fucking RMS Titanic!" She growled.

"You-don't want me here?" Warrior asked, sounding a bit hurt.

Tamaroa realized her mistake at once. "I didn't mean it like that." She assured the larger ship.

Warrior frowned, not believing that for a second. "Yes you did. I know you did." She replied, staggering upright and hiding the wound once more from view. "I'm going on patrol."

"You'll do no such thing!" Tamaroa called. "Warrior, I felt that wound. It's swollen which means it hasn't fully scarred over yet. Not entirely unexpected given your were likely in an induced coma for most of your time on the seafloor. I think it might be infected. You shouldn't sail with it."

"Watch me!" She growled and pushed past the cutter. Tamaroa was forced to move or be run over. "Warrior, Warrior wait!" She tried to increase speed to go after her but Warrior's new engines combined with her sleek frame allowed for a speed that couldn't be matched. Not even that speed demon SS United States could catch her! Once Warrior was clear of the harbor she put all the power she could to those engines and she was gone just as quickly as she had gone from this world before, vanishing into the horizon.


	5. The Visitor

Chapter 5~ The Visitor

Tamaroa searched everywhere she could think of along the east coast with no joy. It was like the Iceberg Warrior had simply vanished into the sea once more. The cutter sighed as she slipped her moorings in New York. Senaca was resting a few berths down after having rushed down to the Chesapeake in the hopes of finding Warrior there. Tamaroa knew she should probably be doing the same thing but the worry and guilt that gnawed at her mind would just keep her awake and she'd rather be doing something useful than waste time in her berth. She should've never said those things to Warrior. It wasn't her fault she was raised. But in order to tell her that, Tamaroa had to find her. She'd already tried the radio and got nothing but static. The bigger ship must've had her radio turned off. Her AIS wasn't sending out any signal either or if it was, it was altered. Tamaroa wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. Warrior had caught onto the new technology with surprising speed. She knew more about how her equipment worked than Tamaroa did. The cutter set a course for New Jersey. There was someone she needed to speak to.

A few hours later found two ships docked along the banks of the Delaware River. One with the markings of a Coast Guard commander, the other with the gray sleek hull and weapons of a Navy cruiser.

"And you're sure you can't find her anywhere?" asked the cruiser.

"I've had ships scour the coastline from Bar Harbor all the way to Charleston. I've even alerted the Canadians to check their ports and nothing!" Tamaroa sighed.

"Then she's not on the coast."

"Yes, thank you madam Sherlock I deduced that already."

The cruiser made a face. "And you say I'm immature. Well, most ships when their frightened, angry or in some kind of distressing mood will flee to the place that they feel the most comfort in." She said.

At these words Tamaroa felt as though a lightning bolt had hit her. _"Belfast."_

 _...  
_  
Young Lillian Harland liked spending time down at the docks. Her family's history was tied to the sea and the city of Belfast in which she lived. On the far end near the drydock sat Nomadic. Lillian liked the old steamer. He had a fierce attitude but a kind disposition. She couldn't understand him sadly, she couldn't understand any of the ships that came to the Lough. The mutation that had allowed her great grandfather to speak to ships and build the yard that bears his name existed in her but it was dormant. A recessive trait she would likely gift to her sons in the future. But that was still at least a decade down the road. Lillian was but a child, she just turned 11 last month! Her parents learned long ago not to worry about her presence here. Every day after school she would come and sit for hours, just observing the ships and wishing she could understand them. But even though she couldn't, they understood her. They respected her and her family and she could find no better protectors should something go wrong.

A whimpering sound caught her attention. She turned away from Nomadic to listen harder. She heard it again. Lillian was well familiar with the sounds of a ship in distress and she rose quickly, her bare feet making a pit patter sound against the hardwood dock. Rounding a corner she came face to face with one of the largest ships she had ever seen. She (and Lillian was certain it was a female) had a white hull with a orange blue stripe across her bows, distinctive of the United States Coast Guard. What was she doing so far from home? Her crimson eyes were clouded with pain and Lillian noticed a small trail of bubbles flowing up from her starboard side, indicative of a hull breach. It had to be bad.

Slowly, so as not to startle the big ship, she knelt and undid one end of a hawser that was lying on the dock. It was heavy and waterlogged but for a girl who spent her whole life handling such things, it was hardly an issue. Holding it in one hand, she reached out with the other, whistling softly to get the ship's attention. Those crimson eyes snapped sharply over to starboard, where Lillian was standing. Curiosity filled them along with a hint of uncertainty. She wasn't afraid, yet. It was vital that Lillian keep her calm. She clucked with her tongue, noting how that big white head snapped back at the sound. Lillian quickly corrected herself, whistling softly once more. Whistling was an age old technique used to calm distressed ships as they found the sound soothing, like another ship's whistle. If one couldn't whistle then humming worked as well. But not outright singing, most ships in distress found the shrill noise irritating and it seemed this one was no exception. Lillian wasn't the best at whistling and she had to work to keep her tones from becoming too shrill. Men were far better at this as they naturally had a lower tone. So far, she seemed to be doing the trick as slowly the big ship lowered her head to Lillian's level. Those crimson eyes held an ocean of secrets, Lillian was certain as she stared into them. The girl was so awestruck by their color and magnitude that she just stood there for a few moments until the ship grunted and she remembered what she needed to do. With her free hand she stroked the center of the ship's prow, admiring the knife like qualities to it. What she found surprising was the ship was riveted. No modern vessels were built using rivets. The technique was tried and true but rivets didn't have a handle on welds. In cases of collision at sea, the rivets would actually become a ship's greatest weakness as their heads would pop, opening a ship to the sea where with welds, the plates would bend but not necessarily open at least not as much. The ship relaxed under Lillian's touch, tilting her head more into her hand. She went too far though and winced as her wound forced her to straighten up. Lillian clicked and whistled again, getting her to lower her head once more much easier this time and quickly got the hawser around one of her massive capstans. Once the ship was tied off, Lillian had to get her into the berth. Just one line wasn't going to work and if the ship got spooked for any reason, she could seriously injure herself trying to get free.

Both hands now free and outstretched, Lillian backed away, motioning with her palms that the ship should follow. She'd switched from whistling to humming and the sound of Misty Mountains carried over the docks, lulling even Nomadic. Only she could have this affect on the ships with this song. It is said that each Shipwright had a particular song that they could sing with their soul and such a song would calm even the most aggressive ship. Lillian couldn't speak to the ships but she could see them for the living beings they were and hear the sounds of their language, sounds that the average passerby wouldn't assume belonged to the ships. As Lillian sang, the ship followed her but she noticed that the big ship was not lulled in the same way as the others. She maintained her awareness even as she followed the young girl. To be able to resist a Shipwright's call meant that this ship had to be incredibly powerful. She was only following Lillian because she knew the girl wouldn't harm her. She trusted her.

Once she was fully in the berth, Lillian took the time to look her over. She stretched 880 feet from prow to stern. Her bow was long, almost a quarter her length with a gentle sloping flare, indicative of an ocean liner heritage. It was something that was seen less and less nowadays. Her shoulder began at the bridge wing where her hull turned outwards. Her superstructure was just as interesting. Lillian could make out two open decks running back from the bridge and ended in a staircase like motion at the stern which had a lovely 18th century curve to it. Lillian could just make out the top of her rudder as well. The decks themselves were mostly enclosed. The upper was open with just the last quarter while the lower was completely encased in glass. Lillian imagined something akin to a promenade. Her orange lifeboats were swung out on davits on top. Each set had a single boat and Lillian counted 16 on the starboard side alone. A capacity for double that of which she likely typically carried as a cutter but for a passenger liner, the number was likely spot on. Lillian gently stroked the ship's prow. "Permission to come aboard?" She asked gently. Lillian needed to know more about this newcomer but if the ship said no then Lillian wouldn't force her. She'd find another way to learn what she needed. Luckily for her the ship acquiesced with a nod and a hatch on one of the lower decks in the hull opened close to where she was standing. "Thank you lass." Lillian gave her prow one last pat and made her way to the door. The ship leaned closer to the dock to allow Lillian to make the jump despite the injury below the waterline that was no doubt protesting. So Lillian made fast to leap across, landing perfectly just inside the hatch. "Try to relax lass, I'll be out again soon." She assured. The ship offered a quiet sigh in reply, settling back on an even keel smoothly despite her injury. She had some class, this one. "Be back soon." Lillian assured again and closed the hatch behind her, confident in her ability to find her way back to it when she was done.

The lights were on allowing her quick and easy passage through the room where she quickly came to a second door. Lillian wasn't surprised. Most ships, especially military ones, had a series of double doors along their hulls especially where people would board. It helped ensure safety if one was breached and also helped keep the inner ship free of most dirt and grime. Lillian wasn't sure what she would find on the other side of this door. Would there still be crew on board, trapped and imprisoned by their own ship. Was there a reason she was abandoned in the first place? Lillian stopped that train of thought right there! She'd watched Ghost Ship one too many times it seemed. She took a deep breath, turned the handle and stepped through the hatch into history.


	6. History Speaks

Chapter 6~ History Speaks

Lillian wasn't sure what she would find when she first opened the door to enter the deck proper. She still had ghastly images of scenes from Ghost Ship in her mind. Once she open the door, the warm lighting and the plush carpet she felt beneath her bare feet dispelled any of those remaining thoughts. Modern cruise ships could not compare to the luxury she saw now and this was merely a glimpse. Beautifully paneled walls of mahogany and oak graced her eyes. A pair of crystal chandeliers lit the hallway. This was not what she had expected onboard a Navy warship unless the exterior was merely a facade. But why go through all the trouble...

Lillian shook her self from those troublesome questions. She needed more information first before drawing to any conclusions and information play further inside. Lillian made her way through the mahogany doors and found herself in a massive open room that must have stretched several decks high and at least one deck below where she was standing. On the wall next to her was the label E Deck. She noted it, at least now she knew what deck she had entered on. Gone was the lush carpet she had felt before. Now she stood on hard tile floor. She made her way to the center of the room where a massive spiral staircase rose up from the bowels of the ship. Deciding to start at the bottom she took the steps as far down as she could. One deck below she hit what was finally, actually, looked like proper military barracks. The luxuries above were merely a facade or perhaps a remanent of a past life. Lillian couldn't shake the feeling she had seen that staircase before.

The end of the stairs took her into a hallway and she immediately headed aft until she found a door labeled Engine Room. Trying to handle, she found it unlocked and entered. The bright lighting of the hallway vanished and an eerie red glow lit her eyes. There was always something to be said about the bowels of a ship and the men who worked in the dark dank conditions.

Lillian stood on a balcony overlooking the entire compartment. She found herself in the middle of the turbine room. Three massive shafts took the center space powered by large fuel bunkers on either side of the vessel. Control panels with hundreds of switches and gauges lined the sides of the room. Several engineering control stations could be seen with desks around them so people could monitor output of all the vessels' vital functions. It was military grade technology. A solid steel bulkhead blocked her view of anything further forward but she suspected the adjoining compartments would be adorned with air-conditioning units, water storage and other amenities necessary for such a large vessel. Also interesting was the presence of a base deck. A base deck was the ceiling to watertight compartments. In the event of flooding the compartments could be completely sealed off at the top, preventing the dreaded phenomenon known as spillover which would drag ship down much more quickly. Having a base deck prevent the need to extend the bulkheads up to the top deck saving both weight, time, and money. The extra space that would've been used by the bulkheads could also be used for a variety of other things such as much-needed morale booster for the crew. The sheer amount of space this room had even with the equipment that was here told Lillian this was a conversion. That and the solder marks her expert eye could see a mile off. The area where the turbines met the hull before continuing outside to the screw bore relatively fresh marks. Lillian estimated them to be no more than a few months old.

Armed with this new information, Lillian exited the engine room and made her way back to the staircase. The next two decks yielded much the same results as the first. Military living quarters as well as the base of the two turret barbetts above. Positioning the ammo magazines two decks above the engine room was a calculated move. Should anything go wrong, an explosion would likely damage the decks above it and the sparse living quarters on this deck would take the brunt of the force rather than any sensitive or important equipment below. Plus this far above the waterline a hull breach would not result in flooding.

Reaching E-Deck once more Lillian continued up until she hit B-deck. Here the spiraling staircase that had been her guide suddenly ended and she found herself in the middle of a large magnificent ballroom. White tile floors lead to a dining room on one side beyond which lay smoking room all covered in magnificent wooden paneling and lush green carpet with matching soft chairs. Like something out of the Gilded Age. It was enough to put the small luxuries of the lower decks to shame! This was opulence unrivaled. Lillian's suspicion of a conversion was looking more and more plausible. Why only convert part of the ship? Perhaps the answer lie in just the sheer size of her. The Coast Guard had no need for this much space so they converted the lower decks and left the uppers as they were. If not for the paint job this ship could probably carry hundreds of passengers on a cruise and none of them would be any wiser to what lay below decks. One other thing Lillian took note of was this ship, despite her clearly civilian origins, was not a cruise ship. Conversion aside, modern cruise liners were flashy. Their opulence was measured in the number of malls and bars they carried onboard. This ship featured a much older style of decadence. Artificial light mixed with the natural light from the massive SkyDome above and Lillian tilted her head back to examine it. It looked hauntingly familiar. Glass paneled, it cast dozens of rainbows down onto the floor below. And then it hit her. She had seen this design before, she had seen this very dome before. It was part of the main lobby at the White Swan Hotel in Northumberland. And as far she knew it was still there. But it's identical twin... heart pounding, Lillian left the spiral staircase behind and raced around wooden pillars the center of the room. Sure enough those open steps lead to a split at the top spiraling away once more on either side. And in the center carved into the wall was that famous clock being crowned by the figures Honor and Glory. It's hands no longer read 2:20. They ticked with life once more and display the ships' current time which was 3:30. Lillian checked her watch. _"Only an hour ahead."_ She mused. It must've been set to Greenwich time as most all British ships did when in home waters. Giving a nod to the serene looking cherub with the torch at the base of the stairs she made her way back down to E-Deck and back outside.

Once outside, Lillian paused to look up at the massive riveted hull. That same flared bow so common in ocean-liners of the age. That enclosed promenade on B-Deck that distinguished this ship from her twin. And those rounded, extended bridge wings that were modified for better line of sight after Olympic's disaster with HMS Hawke. Once again Lillian noted the name on the hull _Iceberg Warrior._ _"Fitting and ironic."_ She thought wryly. She made her way around and faced the ships bow, meeting her Crimson gaze. She said in a businesslike tone "would you let me see that wound lass?" Warrior regarded her for a moment seemingly searching for any evidence of the revelation Lillian had uncovered before rolling onto her port side. Lillian sucked in a harsh breath as she gazed at the nasty wound that marred an otherwise extremely sturdy hull. She didn't bother asking how Warrior had gotten it. She already knew. Parts of it were swollen, no doubt aggravated by decades of ocean sediment never mind Warrior's activities with US Coast Guard. Lillian sighed and took out her pocket knife. Warrior whimpered, one crimson eye tracking her every move. The 10-year-old smiled and gave a non-injured area of her hull a pat. "I ain't gonna lie to you Big T. This will hurt." She warned. Warrior gave her a withering look at the nickname but didn't call her on it. Lillian flipped open the blade on her pocket knife.

The risks on this were huge, never mind the nearest certain ramifications. Get this wrong and she would forever be known as the girl who killed the Titanic. A notion that would have every government, never mind the US, out for her head. But get it right and she could heal an injury that had plagued the great ship for 100 years. She had little choice. If the wound wasn't drained, then Warrior would die and that was a consequence Lillian was not willing to except. She was not blind to the scars the ship bore around her midsection. The Navy must've only brought her bow up and then grafted on a new stern later. She had noticed the slight changes with in the ship too.

"No." She decided. "Death is not an answer today. It is never an answer!" Taking a deep breath she steadied her slightly trembling hand and plunged the knife in.


	7. Five Grueling Days

Chapter 7~ Five Grueling Days

 _From the Journal of Lillian Olympic Harland_

 **Day 1- April 10**  
As soon as I put my knife in, Warrior screamed. The operation was necessary to save her life but that scream bothers me. It makes me wonder, was this the scream she gave when she made that icy plunge at the end of another life 100 years ago? She fell unconscious soon after and I have been unable in my attempts to raise her. The operation was a success as I drained all impurities from the wound and gave it a thorough cleaning which I will continue to conduct twice a day with the changing of the dressing. I've checked Warrior's vital signs and bother her heart rate and her blood pressure are within normal rangers. Still, it would be nice if I had a hospital ship around to help as doing all this work alone on such a big ship is exhausting.

 **Day 2- April 11  
** I was unable to come by today. My parents were displeased about how late I stayed at the docks without telling them. So safe to say I'm not doing any excursions today. Thankfully, I was able to get off a message to Nomadic. I didn't tell him who Warrior was only that she was injured and needed someone to watch her. She hasn't woken up yet. A fact I find a little disconcerting but if she has been worked as hard as I presume she has since her return then I have little reason to be concerned yet. She must've been exhausted poor thing. It's a wonder she didn't collapse before now.

 **Day 3- April 12  
** Warrior has contracted a fever. I got word from Nomadic last night and rushed down to her dock this morning. I'll likely be feeling some heat over it as my parents don't know I'm here but there's only so much Nomadic can do without human help. I do have a few bottles of medicine that might bring the fever down but on a ship Warrior's size I will run out after only a few doses. So I'll need to contract more. This will mean a trip into town, the expense of my life's savings so far and a certain grounding until I go to college but if it saves Warrior's life then it'll be worth it.

 **Day 4- April 13  
** Another Coast Guard ship arrived in the harbor this afternoon. Her name is Tamaroa and I think she's Warrior's commanding officer. A quick word o the harbormaster was all she needed to be let in. As soon as she spotted Warrior she made a beeline for her dock. I couldn't understand anything she said besides the keening cries but the meaning was clear to me even if the words weren't. Nomadic was docked next door at the time and he told me later through an interpreter that he hadn't heard a ship so distraught since Olympic when she learned of her sister's demise. I find that ironic that both these instances involve the same ship but I and potentially Tamaroa are the only ones who know this. She was cautious with her words. Nomadic said "She's hiding something. Even as she cried her eyes out she was very careful with what she said. All I was able to glean from her was Warrior was a completely different ship than what she is now. Whoever she was before, Tamaroa knows and so do you, Lillian. I won't pry. I won't force you to give up what you know. It's likely classified information and you likely discovered it when you went aboard her. Still, if its anything I should know about, then tell me what you can." He asked me outright if she was anyone he might've known at one point. A ship as old as him has seen a ship or two in his lifetime. And I looked him in the eye and told him no. I lied and I could see that he knew I had lied. I very much doubt he will figure out Warrior's true identity and I don't think he'll look into it in any case despite his curiosity. He served in the military twice during war and understands the value of secrecy. Still, I worry he may not be the only one with questions. And unlike him, modern s hips aren't known for their discretion. Someone will uncover the truth. It's only a matter of time...

 **Day 5- April 14  
** Warrior has woken up. Thank god...


	8. Conciousness

Chapter 8~ Consciousness

The pain in Warrior's side did little to dispel the image that remained in her mind. The image of her slipping into the North Atlantic. Only the sounds of a nearby city and the presence of a hull pressed against her exposed belly allowed for the dispense of that notion. Curiosity driving her, she opened her eyes. Her gaze fell on the hull next to her. A white hull that bore the markings of a Coast Guard commander. "Tamaroa?" The name came from her lips as confirmation of the ships' identity rather than a question.

Tamaroa, her gaze staring out at the city started at the use of her name before turning to gaze down at her much larger companion.

"You're awake." The relief in her voice was palpable.

"How long was I out?" Warrior asked.

"5 days. Lillian, Nomadic and I have been taking turns watching you." Tamaroa replied.

The name triggered something in Warrior as the long forgotten memory resurfaced. "Nomadic?! Where is he? Where am _I?!"_ She tried to rise and have a look around but both the mooring lines and Tamaroa's firm grip held her down.

"You're in no condition to be moving yet." She said sternly. "You're in Belfast. You ran here arguing with me over the ethics of your existence. Do you remember?"

"I'm starting to, yeah." Warrior grimaced as she settled back down looking up at her commander. "I'm sorry for that by the way. It wasn't your fault I was brought back."

"You say that like you didn't want to be." Tamaroa said.

"That's a bit of a long story." Warrior said, coughing a little. She felt a bit light headed.

"Here." Tamaroa handed her a fresh cup of tea, knowing exactly what was plaguing her smaller companion. "Drink while I get you some lunch."

"None of that greasy American food please." Warrior asked. "It doesn't agree with me even on a good day."

"Not to worry. That wound did a number on you. Until you're healed it's a diet of sandwiches and antibiotics for you." Tamaroa replied, setting down a grilled cheese in front of her. "You haven't eaten anything in over a week. Get this down and you'll feel much better."

Warrior did so, noting that the small sandwich satisfied the worst of her hunger pains. Though her head was still pounding. "My head still hurts." She complained.

Tamaroa pressed a wire to her bridge. "Are you a bit foggy?" She asked.

Warrior nodded. "A bit." She replied.

"Well you're still running a fever so I'm not surprised. Rest is what you need most."

As Warrior settled in, a question nagged her. "Tamaroa you said another ship helped me, someone named Lillian?"

"Oh, Lillian's not a ship Warrior. She's a girl and a smart one at that. She used her pocket knife to drain your wound."

"Can I meet her? I'd like to thank her." Warrior asked. Lillian's smart actions may've just saved her life.

Tamaroa smiled. "I'm sure you'll get the chance to later." She said gently as Warrior's eyes began to slip closed. She licked her cheek. "Sleep well my friend." She whispered and chuckled as Warrior's response was a hearty snore.


	9. Healing and Revelations

Chapter 9~ Healing and Premonitions

Nomadic watched the large Coast Guard ship with interest. Lillian had told him she was an unknown but Nomadic felt she was lying. The big ship had a familiar look to her but it was like looking at an echo. Nomadic couldn't be sure if she was a familiar face. It could be that when she was built or born she inherited the lines of her forefathers. But Nomadic's gut told him otherwise and it was rarely wrong.

Warrior lay unconscious as she had for the last 18 hours. Beside her, Tamaroa was growing more and more agitated. Nomadic hardly blamed her. He was a bit worried himself. Having served in two World Wars he was familiar with the signs of death. Signs Warrior was beginning to show. With Lillian grounded at her house, the care of Warrior was left in his props. And he was losing her.

Cranking over his old engines and grimacing with they finally caught, Nomadic made his way to the pair of US ships. Tamaroa was barely awake as she stood watch. Nomadic's respect for her went up a notch. She reminded him of himself when he stood over Traffic in his brothers' final hours. _"No, I won't let another die. Not again."_ He thought viciously.

Tamaroa gave him a nod as he moved in alongside. He gently pressed a line to Warrior's bridge and winced. "We've got to bring that fever down." He said, feeling the hot clamy hull.

"I've got an ice machine aboard. "Tamaroa offered.

"Make as much as you can." Nomadic ordered. "It will take several tons of the stuff to make a difference. If it does."

"Warrior's tough." Tamaroa said, trying to be helpful. "She pulled through worse."

"Like whatever gave her this wound?" Nomadic asked shrewdly. He'd seen it when Warrior had first rolled over. "What made it, Tamaroa?" He asked.

"That's classified." Tamaroa replied.

"Not another ship, I can see that." Nomadic continued, ignoring her statement. "A pier, a grounding. Ice?" He suggested.

"It's. Classified." She repeated a bit more forcefully and Nomadic knew he'd hit a nerve.

"It was ice wasn't it? She got squashed in the pack."

Tamaroa gave a tired sigh. "No. Not a pack. A lone berg. A massive one that she never saw until it was too late. Even so, she outdid all expectations. No ship is unsinkable. But for a brief time, she as damn close to it."

Nomadic nodded, looking down at Warrior. Those lines were still there and still so familiar. "Remarkable." He whispered. "Well, let's hope ice can save her this time."

Tamaroa's ice machines were originally meant for crews luxuries and they worked overtime to give Nomadic the demand he asked for. Son Warrior was encased in ice. Nomadic checked her temperature regularly, growing increasingly frustrated that the fever refused to break. Tamaroa, after a brief rest of just 4 hours, rejoined him at nightfall.

"I can't do anything more." He said. "It's up to her to fight this now."

Tamaroa moved in and Nomadic backed off so she could be close to her fleet mate. Lowering her head, she brushed her muzzle against Warrior's flank. "Pull through." She whispered. "I need you. Senaca needs you, Titanic." The name was said in a reverent whisper and with good reason. For many ships, Titanic was their ruler. She was the Queen. The ship who saw the future and knew changes had to be made. She was the ship who challenged the laws of the Ancients and paid the ultimate price for the sake of future generations.

"Please." Tamaroa nuzzled her. "Titanic, my Queen. Please come back to me." She rested her head over that hot flank, relieved she could still feel its rise and fall. Closing her eyes, Tamaroa tuned out all the things around her until all she could hear was Warrior's shallow but strong breaths. For the younger cutter, the sound was a lullaby.

When Warrior finally opened her eyes, 3 days after she'd last opened them, she was pleased to find the fog gone from her mind. Her head felt clear other than the normal grogginess. The first thing she felt was the cold. It surrounded her and almost immediately she started shivering. A white hull blocked her vision.

"T-Tamaroa." She acknowledged her superior.

"Warrior, thank the Ancients." Tamaroa looked exhausted, dark rings around her eyes. But she was energized with a light that sparkled the moment she saw Warrior awake.

"I'm cold." The larger ship shivered.

Tamaroa gently moved some of the ice away. "I had to keep that fever from returning. It's had you under its grip for over a week now." She said.

"A week?" Warrior repeated. "What day is it?" She asked.

"April 18th." Tamaroa replied.

"The days I was supposed to leave New York for Plymouth." Warrior sighed.

"Warrior, I know you don't think of yourself as special but you are. It takes a special ship to challenge the Ancients, an extraordinary one to _win_ that challenge." Tamaroa said.

"It only took me a hundred and four years. But I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you." Warrior replied.

Nomadic came by later, pleased to see Warrior awake. "You were touch and go for a while there mi'lady." He said with a courteous bow.

Warrior giggled. "Still have that French charm I see Nomadic." She replied.

"Is there any other kind of charm?" He replied as he checked her bandages. He was stunned by what he saw. "It's healed." He whispered in a shocked voice but Warrior didn't seem fazed.

"A gift." She said. "From my sisters."

Tamaroa smiled. "I guess we owe them one." She said.

Warrior chuckled. "Tamaroa, may I request something?" She asked.

"Of course Warrior." Tamaroa replied. "I request my true name be returned to me. Titanic is who I am and I wish to be proud of that once more."

A bit surprised by the request, Tamaroa nodded. "I think I can have Belfast scrounge enough workers together for a rechristening." She said.

"NO!" The force of her protest surprised even Warrior who added in a softer voice "You've been so kind to me. I'm the one who owes you so much. I want you to preside over the ceremony, Tamaroa." Warrior said.

"If that is what you wish." Tamaroa replied.

Warrior nodded and the cutter smiled. "Then I'd be honored." She said.


	10. A Second Chance

Chapter 10~ A Second Chance

A few weeks passed and as Warrior improved a change was in order. She was moved into a drydock, the same drydock she had occupied over 100 years ago. Her bottom was cleaned of any barnacles and her white Coast Guard hull was replaced with something a bit more traditional for an ocean liner. She sported her old colors. A lovely shade of ebony black with a gold racing stripe. Her funnels were repainted to match her old style livery, both stacks now a gorgeous gold with a black cap. She still carried her coast guard stripe and her awards and decals were painted on her superstructure, including a rather unusual one. A new rank, the 1st Sea Commandant of the Coast Guard, she wore proudly. Titanic had helped found the USCG and so Warrior would wear her designation.

Tamaroa approached her, snapping a salute. Warrior was still getting used to the idea of ordering the other ship around but she knew that Tamaroa was a good help. She was patient and willing to work with her new commander. "New news from the states?" Warrior asked. "Indeed ma'am. I have good news and I have bad news. If my commander is willing, I shall speak the bad news first?" Tamaroa said. Warrior nodded. "Proceed." "The Pentagon has disapproved your request for the name change. Apparently your salvage wasn't entirely legal and they want to keep it under wraps for as long as possible." "At least until they can find something appropriate to trade Britain in return to dampen the backlash." Warrior sighed. "And the good news?" She asked. Tamaroa managed to smirk without moving a muscle. "You're in luck because the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs this term is from the Roosevelt family, so he's a Navy man. His assistant has an uncle on the board of Carnival and between them they've managed to convince Cunard to lease you for a year." "Say what?" Warrior was surprised and a bit confused but she could not stop the hope seeping into her voice. Tamaroa chuckled. "You'll be sailing for Cunard, ma'am. While maintaining your duties as the Coast Guard commandant. A few transAtlantic runs, some Mediterranean and Caribbean sailings, showing the flag, education things like that. All while Cunard makes a pretty penny on the passenger side. All the essential crew will be Coast Guardsman and Cunard will be sure to give them additional training to get them up to speed on the customer service side of things, particularly the bridge staff." "And me?" "Well I'm sure you're old English charm will do just fine." Tamaroa replied. Warrior huffed indignantly. "I. Am. Irish!" She exclaimed, getting only more infuriated as Tamaroa just laughed again.

Warrior set sail from Belfast on her 105th birthday, becoming (unofficially) the oldest passenger ship in service. She sailed down to Southampton in a record time of just over 3 hours. With her introduction, the competition for the Blue Riband was revived and Warrior had no doubt she could snatch the award away from that upstart Yank sharleton! Exiting the Solent, she let the tugs nudge her gently into her berth. She didn't really need tugboats, her bow thrusters were sufficient enough but the little boats had been so helpful to her in Belfast and kind (if a bit crude) on the journey down that she allowed their efforts here. She was moored beside a big Vista-class hybrid, Cunard by the looks of that trademark red funnel. "Queen Victoria." The ship introduced herself. "Call me Victoria though, cause I ain't no queen." The tugboats laughed as though it was some sort of inside joke but Warrior shrugged. "Iceberg Warrior, call me Big T." She had accepted the nickname if only because she did find it somewhat amusing. But she'd be scrapped before she admitted that. "Nice to meet ya Big T." Victoria had a strong accent that was mostly Floridian with just a touch of Italian. Warrior figured the former was due to her routings. The latter was likely from Fincanteri. "So you're the new girl in town." Victoria looked her over with an expert but intense eye. Warrior was drawn by the vibrant amber shade. So much like her sister... She blinked herself out of her revere in time to hear Victoria ask. "So what's a Coastie doing rubbing hulls with the party goers?" "Well patrols get a little boring so I used my newfound rank to get a taste of the old ways." Warrior replied. Victoria chuckled. "Wish I could do that. I'd love to go around the Mediterranean, try some French wine, Italian cheese maybe as a good little girl of Fincanteri should but nooooo, I get stuck in the Caribbean. Between Oasis and Fantasy, agh I'd almost take Antarctica." She said. Warrior laughed. She knew of Oasis. The big Royal Caribbean cruise ship was a bit of a stuck up but she didn't find her too bad. But what she had seen of Victoria so far, the Vista-class seemed like exactly the kind of ship that would not get along with Oasis. "How long did you persuade the brass to send ya here for?" Victoria asked. "As long as my fellow Coasties can stand my absence." Warrior replied and Victoria laughed. "You're alright Big T. I think we'll get along just fine." She said.


End file.
